Unforeseen Distraction
by inatrice
Summary: Sherlock doesn't like being in his own head, and without a case what else is there to concentrate on?
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was nearly vibrating on the couch. He was so _so_ bored. He really could not stand to be so bored. And John was just sitting there _reading the bloody newspaper_. Sherlock attempted to curl farther into himself. Perhaps if he could do that he could stave off those horrid thoughts just a little longer. No, he couldn't let John see that side of him. The last time that happened, he'd been left alone for far too long. In all honesty, he thought he'd like the isolation. Those ordinary folk were really just _too much_ sometimes. But the time alone inside his head, God had it really been so many years? He didn't start coming out of his head until he started helping at the Yard. And now John was here and no he couldn't let John see. Then John would hate him like he hates himself. And Sherlock didn't think he would be able to handle that.

"Any hint of a case then?" John asks softly.

"Nothing." Sherlock replies, surprised at the edge in his voice. His voice never surprises him, not unless. No he could feel it, the drowning. He could feel his mind taking a hold of him, dragging him down, down. "NO!" He shouts, leaping from the couch, dressing gown flying around him.

John looks at him, fear well hidden in his face, but visible nonetheless. Sherlock isn't sure what expression his own face holds, and he's not sure he wants to know if it's scaring John. But the blackness of his mind begins to creep forward again, and Sherlock puts a fist to each of his temples and pounds them there, hard as he can.

"Hey now! Stop that!" John stands quickly and goes to grab for Sherlock's wrists. Sherlock slips easily out of his reach. "Sherlock, what's happening?" John asks, fear now plain all over his body.

Sherlock slams himself against the wall. "They can't catch me John, they can't." He looks at John in what he can only assume is a pleading look. "Don't let them, please." Sherlock slides down the wall, hitting his head against it as he goes. Anything to keep his peace for just a while longer.

"Sherlock, who? Who will get you?" John is still keeping his distance; he's confused as well frightened.

Sherlock curls up into a ball against the wall, pressing his eyes into his knees. "The thoughts, the bloody inner sanctum of my mind." Sherlock is once again surprised at the roughness in his voice. He really is not in control of himself now, never a good sign. "Please John." He adds almost silently.

John is at his side in an instant. John takes Sherlock's face in his hands. "Look at me." He demands quietly. Sherlock doesn't open his eyes. John shakes him, a small shake but forceful nonetheless. "I said bloody _look_ at me."

Sherlock appeases and finds John looking at him with military hardened eyes and the stoic expression of a man who has seen this before and hates it with a burning passion. Sherlock feels bad that he's made John feel this way, react this way, which also surprises him. It's so rare for compassion to rear its ugly head.

"What kind of thoughts are these, then?" John asks quietly.

"Thoughts that tear. They tear everything apart, nothing is sacred, nothing is surprising. Thoughts that really don't warrant life continuing, because if this is who I am then why should I be allowed to exist?"

Fear has crept into John's expression, hands tightening on Sherlock's face almost to the point of pain. "What helps?"

"Cases. Really truly unexpected surprises. Fascinating new, relevant information." Sherlock closes his eyes again. "I don't want you to be caught up in this John. Sometimes these thoughts only consume me for a couple days, though sometimes it's longer. I do not want you to run from me out of fear when they hit." Sherlock opens his eyes again, looking at John with purpose now. "You should leave. I can tell you when it's safe to come back, if you are even willing."

John's head begins to shake before his brain can send words to his mouth. "Nope. Not gonna happen. You're not the first one I've had to deal with."

"I'm the only one with this kind of massive mind." Sherlock retorts hotly.

"That maybe so, but that just means I have to change my tactics." John licks his lips to steady himself. "You said surprises work?"

Sherlock tries to nod, but John's hands are still on his face. "Someti-"

John's lips silent Sherlock's words. Sherlock's eyes pop open wide. He's had people attempt to kiss him before but he's never let them. He's never been in a state where someone _could_ just kiss him. Sherlock realizes suddenly that the world has gone silent except for his pounding heart and John's breathing. All he can feel is where John's lips are touching his, John's fingers sliding back into his hair, John's chest barely touching his knees. His nose is filled with John's scent, homey and earthy and _good_. All he can see is John's face, so close he can see the tiniest details, the pores, the tiny hairs between his eyebrows. He needs to see more, smell more, feel more, what's missing? Taste! Sherlock tentatively parts his lips. John pulls away for not even a second to adjust and then he's back.

Their lips move together. Sherlock tilts his head to the side for a more perfect fit. John's lips are perfect. They're soft but strong, forceful but not demanding. Sherlock can't bear to be without all the information and brings his tongue to taste John's lips. Oh and he can taste the coffee there, and the toast and jam he'd had earlier, but there's something else. Something that matches his smell. Yes, he can taste John, and John tastes _good_.

John's tongue joins his and, dear God, the textures. Smooth and rough and wet and warm. Why has he not let people kiss him before? Are they all like this? Sherlock attempts to mirror John with his hands, running them through his hair. Sherlock pulls away from John, opening his eyes, distracted. The number of textures in John's hair is simply astounding. Sherlock pretzels his legs and pulls John into his lap. John's hair is fascinating. He'd never really looked at it before. Sherlock runs his hands through it again, slowly this time, marveling at all of the different colors. Here's a smooth thin blonde on, oh and a thick course brown one, hell, John's even got a few grays. More than a few, and they're almost like the blonde ones, but thicker.

Sherlock really isn't sure how long it takes, but he catalogues every hair on John's head. John hasn't said a word the entire time. Sherlock thinks he heard him sigh a few times, felt him shiver a few more. "John," Sherlock says quietly now that he's finished. "You are beautiful." He takes John's chin in his hand and turns his head so they are looking eye to eye. "I need to know every part of you."

An expression flits across John's face that Sherlock isn't sure he can identify. "What, right now?"

"Yes." Sherlock answers simply. Christ, John's eyes are beautiful as well. Dark ocean blue, with darker contours in them. How could Sherlock have missed this amazing specimen in front of him? They'd been living together for almost a year now.

"Maybe we should take things slowly?" John suggests, nervousness in his voice. "I don't want you to get bored of me too quickly."

Sherlock thinks that John needs to come to terms with this development in their relationship, and that's why he wants to take things slow. John has said before, he's not gay. Yet he just kissed Sherlock. Was that a ploy? Just to make him feel better? Why would John do that? He needs to know what was happening in that funny brain John has. He needs to know how John feels. Why does he need to know? He's never needed to know how others felt, nor has he ever felt compelled to. What was wrong with him? Sherlock felt his eyes flood with tears. His body was reacting to something. Then he consciously felt the stiffness in his posture, could feel the stress and fear from before the kissing incident added to the confusion and frustration of the current moment. He felt his air way constrict. _Damn_ his body. _Damn_ physiological reactions that really were out of his control.

John's brow puckered in confusion. "Sherlock, what's…?"

Sherlock threw his face into John's shoulder as a sob ripped through his chest. Christ, when was the last time he had cried? He was usually able to keep things like this at bay, keep himself stoic and separate from these stupid, useless emotions. What was John Watson _doing_ to him?

"Sherlock I'm sorry. What did I say, huh? You can study me all you want. Christ, just what happened here?" John's hands were tracing small circle on Sherlock's back. His voice was honestly surprised and a bit fearful.

"John," Sherlock attempted to tell him to stop, but his voice was too cracked and for some reason his body wasn't letting his mind control it. So he just kept crying, clinging to John, whispering his name because it was the only thing he had control of at this point. John continued to run his hands over his back, and really it was comforting.

Finally, Sherlock could control his diaphragm enough to take a few deep breaths. He lifts his head and wipes angrily at his eyes. He couldn't look at John. "So sorry you had to see that." He says darkly.

"When's the last time you had a good cry?" John asks, a knowing tone to his voice.

Sherlock threw up his shoulders and shook his head, red puffy eyes rolling slightly. "I can't recall the last time I was this full of emotion." He hisses. "Why does it matter anyway?" He adds bitterly.

"Sherlock, everyone needs a good cry once in a while." John tells him gently.

Sherlock scoffs. "I'm not everyone John."

"Yeah, but you're human, and you can't ignore human needs, even though you seem to push that at every single opportunity." John raises an eyebrow.

Sherlock can't help but quirk one side of his mouth up in momentary amusement, knowing John means the lack of sleep and food. He's still not meeting John's gaze though. He is thoroughly embarrassed. He is surprised at himself that he's still got John in his lap, still has one hand on the small of this man's back, that he doesn't want to push him away. He never imagined that would happen.

"Sherlock," John whispers gently. Sherlock opens his eyes. He didn't realize that he had closed them. "Are you feeling better?"

Sherlock turns his head so he can see John. There is a look of concern about him. John really does care about him. Why? His lips are pressed thin. The whole episode couldn't have been easy on him. But those lips, they're taunting him. Mocking him because he won't get to taste them again. John had just been trying to surprise him, it meant nothing. And Sherlock was surprised, yet again, to find that that made him sad. He could feel his head shaking a little. He had to try.

"Am I allowed to kiss you again?" He asks evenly, quietly.

John goes very still, his face blank. Sherlock desperately needs to know what is going through that head. But of course, he should take this silence as 'I wasn't kissing you because I wanted to, I was kissing you because you needed it and I wanted to help.' John isn't gay, probably isn't even bi, though Sherlock knows he has quite the manipulative power over John. But how? He's never been so intrigued by a person, so attracted. He wants to touch John everywhere. Not even in a particularly sexual way, he just wants to explore John's body, understand and catalogue every millimeter of it. Perhaps then he can understand his compulsion for this man. But he can't get there without permission. Hell, he's not sure how to get there in the first place. He's never had to try and dance his way into an intimate relationship. _Please John, just say I can kiss you._

"Did it help?" John asks tentatively.

"Immensely," Sherlock answers immediately, leaning his head forward toward John.

"I thought the hair thing helped a bit more?" John smiles nervously, motioning towards his head.

"It did help. But the kiss, John. It silenced everything in my head. All of my sense were filled with you and only you." Sherlock hesitates for a second. "It was beautiful John. The silence was beautiful, _you_ were – are beautiful. And fascinating. I've never…" What is he doing? Sherlock Holmes does not reveal these kinds of things about himself. Besides John is what – blushing? Is this good or bad? What kind of expression is that? Flattered or frightened? Christ how he hates being so unsure! "Help, John. I don't know what's happening to me." He admits quietly.

"How can I help?" John asks, serious again. "What is it now? Is it still the thoughts?"

"No, not anymore." Sherlock says, waving his hand in front of his face. "Thank you for that, by the way." He looks away from John's face, tired of not being able to read exactly what is on, terrified of how he will react, not sure what expression his own face holds. "It's you John. You've gone and stuck yourself in my brain. I can't stave off emotion with you, I can't always read you. You are making it incredibly hard for me to function as I usually do."

"But what I'm doing now isn't enough." John states.

Sherlock looks back at him slightly confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if you're getting bored enough to punch yourself in the bloody head, then obviously I'm doing something wrong, or you've gotten bored of how I usually am." John tells him, completely and utterly serious. His expression is guarded, though Sherlock can see a bit of sadness in his eyes.

"I … I never thought of it like that." Sherlock admits.

"Of course you didn't, you clot. You never think of anyone but yourself. Or you use the people around you until you don't have a use for them anymore." John breath is coming a little faster now. Sherlock is sure he's angry. But why? "Don't think I don't observe you Sherlock because I do." John's eyes close and he shakes his head a little bit. "I see what you do to others, I can see what will happen to me, what is happening I guess. You're going to get bored and you're going to move on. It's already happening. And I don't – I really don't want it to happen, Sherlock, because I've never been so close to someone in my life. I can't let you go and I'm scared as hell because I don't know how to bloody keep you."

Sherlock's mind goes blank. Had he been so blind? Had he never realized what kind of friend he'd had in John Watson? He couldn't let John go either, because as much as he messed with Sherlock's version of normal, there was a part of him that knew that John was good for him, was helping him. Yes, maybe he did subconsciously understand what John was doing for him. Knew that he couldn't let go of what John was giving him willingly. Such easy friendship, though it had to be hell for John. Sherlock knew he wasn't easy to live with, yet John seemed to thrive with him.

Sherlock didn't think which was strange considering. He never did anything without fully calculating it first, but apparently he'd lost control of his body again. He leaned forward, closing the inches between his and John's faces. He didn't ask for permission, he used it as a way to answer John's question. _If you want to keep me, surprise me._

Sherlock could feel John's body relax into the kiss. Another something he didn't fully expect. If anything, he would continue to do this just to see how John would react to anything he did. He needed to crack the code of John Watson. It wouldn't be an easy task and he wasn't entirely sure if John would want to be cracked. Would John still be interesting after he learned all he could about this man? Would John want to stay? What –

"Stop bloody thinking so much and kiss me better, you fool." John says, his breath hot on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock obliges, thrusting his hands into John's marvelous hair, letting himself get lost in the taste and smell that is John Watson, letting his entire world shrink down to the spaces and non spaces between them. His questions could wait because this distraction was the best he'd ever encountered.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a week since Sherlock's breakdown. There have been no further problems with Sherlock's darker thoughts and he's just finished a case. A wife had found out about her cheating spouse and was going to confront the lover. The lover ended up killing the wife and because she had watched so many of those silly crime shows on the telly, she had thought she could get away with it. Fortunately, Sherlock is better than those flashy sods on those ridiculous shows. It was really a simple case, but a victory nonetheless. So Sherlock thought it would be appropriate to celebrate.

As he and John walked out of the Yard, he slides an arm around John's waist, directing them in the opposite direction of Baker Street.

Sherlock feels John tense. Sherlock has never been one for public displays of affection, or displays of affection in general, but he wants to try for John. This is something he can try and change because John is really the only person that matters, that has ever mattered in his life. Sure there was family, but, well, he didn't want to dwell on that.

"Where are we going, then?" John asks, taking Sherlock's arm from around his waist. Panic floods Sherlock momentarily. Has he done something not good? Oh God John what was it? But John keeps Sherlock's hand, threading their fingers together. Sherlock glances at John out of the corner of his eye. He can see a light flush on his cheeks. Sherlock's eyes snap forward again, his heart racing. Sherlock considers this. His heart doesn't race for nothing. John squeezes his hand and his breath catches. Interesting. Sherlock hasn't reacted this way to human contact, ever. _What makes John Watson so special?_

"Sherlock?" John's voice comes again.

"Hmm? Oh. Dinner." Sherlock answers.

John chuckles lightly. "Is this a date, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's brain freezes. How does John Watson do this to him? He manages to shrug. "Just a little celebratory thing. We did just solve a case."

"So a Sherlock version of a date." John nods and looks at him, smiling. "I'm looking forward to it."

Sherlock narrows his eyes and meets John's gaze. "I thought you weren't gay." He says slowly.

John purses his lips and looks away, embarrassed. "I think I was trying to convince myself rather than the other people. But you …" John laughs a little more than Sherlock thinks is really necessary. "You are literally the exception to everything I thought was real." John is silent for a moment. "I haven't stopped thinking about that day last week." He adds quietly.

Sherlock hasn't either if he's being completely honest with himself. That day, they had stayed on the floor kissing until Sherlock's back couldn't handle leaning against that wall anymore. After standing the spell had somewhat been broken. John had rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, giggling quietly to himself. "I wasn't expecting things to go that way." John had admitted.

"What were you expecting when you kissed me the first time?" Sherlock had asked, stretching.

"A violent reaction. I thought you were going to throw me across the room."

Sherlock had scoffed at that.

"It's not completely unreasonable." John had insisted. He had looked at Sherlock with the most unreadable expression for nearly five minutes until he had finally said, "I'm going out to get some air."

Sherlock had been left alone for the rest of the day, remembering how John's lips had felt, the start of stubble on John's chin, the way their tongues had mingled. Sherlock had gone to his room at around one in the morning and heard John come in not long after that. Part of Sherlock had wanted to go to John's room and beg him for more, but he hadn't known how to take John's absence.

The next morning neither of them had mentioned anything and that's how it had stayed. As if it hadn't happened at all.

Though they had talked to each other over the past seven days, mostly about the case that had just concluded, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a gap growing between them, and it scared him. He didn't want to push John away. He didn't want John to push himself away. This dinner was about the only thing he could think of to try and patch up the wound the silence had left between them without putting John off too badly.

John takes Sherlock's silent reflection of the past events as 'I don't want to talk right now.' John looks down at the concrete and loosens his grip on Sherlock's hand. But Sherlock doesn't let it fall away. He grabs it tighter and pulls John closer so that they are walking shoulder to shoulder. Well, as shoulder to shoulder as they can get with the height difference.

"What are you thinking about?" John asks quietly, snarkily.

Sherlock looks at him sharply. John was put off by his silence, and possibly the fact that he couldn't get away from Sherlock's grip. Sherlock considers John's question. "What to say to you that doesn't make you run in fear or disgust you." Sherlock sighs. "I want to talk to you. Fix this silence that has been between us since that day but …" Sherlock hesitates and looks away from John. "Well, I don't really know how to go about it."

John is quiet as Sherlock leads them into a small restaurant, finding them a table and ordering a bottle of wine when the waiter comes around.

"Are you regretting your actions?" Sherlock asks because really that's what he's afraid of, and yes he is afraid. That John regrets everything up to this point, which is wholly irrational, because John had said that he couldn't let Sherlock go. Sherlock hates this irrational fear, hates all the insecurities that last week's incident has brought up in him. He doesn't know how to talk to John anymore and he desperately needs it to change.

John looks at him and leans back in his chair. "No." He says, taking in a deep breath. "No I was afraid you hated it. I was afraid I had ruined our friendship." John looks down at the table. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I mean, God Sherlock, it was probably the second day that I knew you when you told me you were married to your work."

Sherlock winces. "Yes, well, I'm wholly regretting those words now."

John didn't seem to hear him. "What could you possibly want to do with me?"

Sherlock's brow furrows. John didn't think he was good enough? Or was he just admitting that he was aware that the work came first, and always would come first? But was that entirely true now? There had been more than a few instances as of late where Sherlock could have chased after a suspect, but elected to stay and make sure John was safe, that John was okay, that he wasn't hurt. If this silence between them was teaching him anything, is that the longer John was around, the harder it would be for Sherlock to let him go, and John didn't seem to want to go anywhere. So now it was Sherlock's job to make sure his companion was always safe and out of harm's way.

"Sherlock, have you ever…" John pauses to smile at the waiter that pours them their wine and leaves the bottle after taking their orders. "Have you ever been in a relationship before?" He takes a deep drink of his wine. "Ever been interested in having relations with a woman, another man, anyone?"

Sherlock knew about the human body. He was quite familiar with the male anatomy from exploring his own body, as well as observing fellow male students from his school days. He'd learned about the female body from text books, and ever since he'd had access to the morgue he found that nearly all the questions he could've asked had been answered. As far as sex, well, he'd observed how well that went over from the students at his schools as well. It always seemed to cause trouble and then you had to be nice to the person after that, because they expected you had 'bonded' and that they weren't just an experiment to see if it was even _fun_. He understood the chemistry of love and lust, but he couldn't ever quite grasp the effect it had on the conscious level of the brain. Perhaps he was broken?

"Never been a relationship. Never really interested in having 'relations' as you put so delicately." Sherlock tells John in a flat tone. He takes a drink of his wine and notices John's glass is mostly empty. There's a slight sweat over John's brow. He's nervous. "Not until I met you, anyway."

John's guarded expression drops and utter surprise covers his face. "You mean that…"

"Yes John. I'm interested in a physical relationship with you." Sherlock keeps his eyes trained on John's face in order to see every single reaction. A quick smile after a blush has fully covered his face. Happiness fills his eyes, yet he licks his lips nervously as he can only be working out what words to say. His expression hardens and turns determined.

"Is that it then?" John deadpans. "Just the sex? Exploring my body until you're done with it?" Sherlock feels his eyes narrow at these questions. If John's implying … "I won't let you." John sets his jaw and purses his lips together blinking two, three, four times. "If you're going to have my body, I have to get your mind. You – you can probably deduce every emotion that fills my brain as it's filling my brain. But no, I can't do that. I can't let you stay a complete mystery, Sherlock." John leans forward. "If you want me, you're going to have to open up. Think you can do that?"

Sherlock is speechless. John wants to be with him? More than friends? But can he meet John's demands? Can he really let anyone in to his mind without them running for their life? He wants to try, he realizes. Damn, he really wants to try.

"You'll have to be patient with me." Sherlock answers. "This is one of the areas I am least experienced at and am bound to make horrid mistakes." Sherlock leans forward as well. "I'm warning you now it will not be easy and it will not be pretty, we are dealing with _my_ mind here." Sherlock curls his lip as John rolls his eyes slightly. "I am asking you now to not run away when it gets difficult, because I won't be able to handle your leaving." Sherlock looks at the table.

"Sherlock, I've seen the battle field. I've seen how it fucks with people's heads. I've seen people actually out of their mind. I continue to see battle almost every day at the surgery." He places his hand on the table, palm up. On offering, an opening. John's smile is caring, as his ocean blue eyes bore into Sherlock's skull. "I have some preparation for this, you don't. Trust me. You can, I promise."

Sherlock is vaguely aware that his breathing has become rather ragged. He carefully places his hand in John's and John squeezes his fingers, a small look of relief crossing the doctor's face.

Dinner is good. Sherlock actually ate some pasta. He figures he might as well eat, mostly for John's sake. There also isn't a case now, and well, he hasn't eaten in nearly three days. As much as he hates it, his body and brain are held back by this mortal failing. He feels like spoiling John tonight, so he orders the dessert that is meant for couples, a large slice of chocolate cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a scoop of chocolate all drizzled in strawberry sauce and topped with two strawberries and an unhealthy amount of whipped cream. By this time they've nearly made it through two bottles of wine, most of it John has drank, and he's a little giggly. Sherlock is too. This is why he almost never drinks; he has such a weak constitution for these things.

Sherlock watches John eat. He's fascinating when he's tipsy. Every movement is funny to him, especially when he finishes his glass of wine and goes to eat the last of the cake when he completely misses his mouth and gets whipped cream all over his face. John giggles at his own foolishness and Sherlock can't help but chuckle lightly as well. John attempts to remove all the whipped cream with his napkin but he accidentally leaves some just on the edge of his mouth. Sherlock stares at the offending confectionary. It's impeding on his property.

"What?" John asks him, smile fading from his face.

Sherlock reaches out his hand and rests it on the left side of John's face. John's eyes flutter closed and he leans into Sherlock's touch. Sherlock can feel his heart rate increase. Should he get excited over this small touch, over John's reaction? His concentration goes back to his mission and he wipes away the little white smudge with his thumb.

John opens his eyes; pupils wide, face flush with wine and desire. Sherlock can feel John's breath on his hand as he lets it linger on John's face for a millisecond longer than he should. When he does pull away, Sherlock sticks his thumb in his mouth, licking away the whipped cream. Sherlock can see John's breath hitch.

"Ready to go home?" Sherlock purrs. Sherlock is surprised at the sultry nature of his voice, but he keeps his expression even.

"God, yes." John hurries into his coat and Sherlock throws down a ridiculous amount of money as a means of payment and tip and he sweeps John out of the restaurant.

John throws his arms around Sherlock's waist as he tries to stay upright. He seems a little drunker than Sherlock anticipated and he's glad he didn't drink as much. Sherlock wraps his left arm around his … God what is John? Friend? No, he's more than that. Boyfriend? Lover? Well, they hadn't had sex, yet. Yet? Was he okay with that prospect? He really didn't know, and he found he didn't care. He hailed a cab as John nuzzled into him.

"Sherlock, why are you so warm?" John asks.

"Because you seem to be causing more arousal than originally planned," Sherlock murmurs into John's ear once they are in the cab.

John giggles and takes Sherlock's hand. "All according to _my_ plan," John tells him before kissing each of his knuckles.

Sherlock takes in a sharp breath and something flips inside his stomach. Christ, John Watson is going to have power over him now, he just knows it. This both excites and terrifies Sherlock but his mind falters when John takes Sherlock's index finger into his mouth. Once again, all the noise in the world is silenced because of this magnificent man. Sherlock can barely sit still as John's tongue caresses his skin and he has to make an effort to keep the mewling sounds escaping his lips at a low volume.

Sherlock's eyes snap open as the warmth of John's mouth is suddenly ripped away. They're home and Sherlock is irrationally grateful that he hadn't chosen a place to eat any farther away. John is throwing a bill at the cabbie and Sherlock fumbles with the door. He has never fumbled with a door before. He looks at his hands in confusion and John reaches around him and shoves the door open. Sherlock smiles at him with an unknown expression on his face. He's sure he's seen it on others, perhaps it was it loving?

John pushes him out of the cab and they rush into the flat. Sherlock's heart is racing, he really has no idea what to expect and it is a brilliant feeling. They've barely made it into 221b before John is shoving Sherlock's coat off. Sherlock tries to mirror what John is doing, but his eye has caught John's lips and they are immensely distracting. John looks like a bird caught in a cat's line of sight as he shakes himself out of his own coat. Sherlock is marveling at the silence of the situation. Everything is John Watson, everything is beautiful. Sherlock goes in for the kill.

John stumbles back with the force of Sherlock's kiss, and with a practiced move, leads them to the couch while still kissing Sherlock. They fall together, Sherlock landing with his knees surrounding John's waist. He pulls away to look at John, panting and heart nearly beating out of his chest.

John is breathing heavy as well but he isn't looking at his face, no John's eyes are raking up and down Sherlock's body. "Christ, but you're gorgeous," John whispers.

Sherlock freezes. He has no idea how to proceed. He knows he wants to see every part of John's body, but where to begin? How is he supposed to know what is good and not good? Suddenly Sherlock is angry at himself for the lack of experience. But then again, there was no way he could have been able to foresee John Watson barreling into his life.

"Sherlock," John says gently, snapping Sherlock's attention back to those big beautiful ocean eyes now so dark with desire. "Remember what I said about trust at the restaurant?"

Sherlock nods slowly, biting his bottom lip.

"Do you trust me?" John asks him, putting his hands on Sherlock's back.

John's voice, his eyes, they are pushing all of Sherlock's fear away, replacing it with a warmth he hasn't experienced before, in his chest and below his belt. Sherlock frames John's face with his hands. "Yes," he whispers breathlessly.

John gives a little nod and shifts, leading Sherlock to lie down on the couch under him. Sherlock really isn't in control of his breathing now. All he can see are John's eyes and he feels safe.

"Sherlock, you told me you've never done any of this before right?" John asks, looking at him very seriously.

Sherlock nods again because he is fairly certain he's lost the ability to form coherent sentences.

John licks his lips. "You will tell me if I'm going too far, yeah?"

"Of course." Sherlock says immediately.

"Sherlock, I'm serious." John snaps. "I know you want to – to catalogue me or whatever," Sherlock can hear a slight bitterness here. "But if you are uncomfortable you tell me to stop. I'll stop, okay?"

Sherlock looks at John's expression, really looks at it now. John is truly concerned, truly trying to take care of him as best as he possibly can. Sherlock really doesn't know how to comprehend this level of devotion and it scares him. It scares him that John Watson cares for him this much because he will put Sherlock ahead of himself, which is stupid because that means John will go into the firing line for him. Christ, he already has on multiple occasions. That simply won't do, because Sherlock Holmes can no longer live without John Watson.

"Sherlock," John's voice has a pleading quality to it now. "Okay?"

Sherlock swallows, his vision once again clouded by John's face. "Yes, yes John. I trust you. I promise I'll tell you if it goes too far."

John responds with a kiss so deep and passionate that Sherlock is quite literally blown away. His entire body freezes he has no idea what to do with his hands, so he just rests them on John's back. John's jumper is soft and warm and so _John_ Sherlock can barely stand it.

John's hands are not idle however. They tear the buttons off of Sherlock's shirt. John's lips move down to where Sherlock's jaw meets his neck kissing, sucking, biting, and Sherlock squirms with pleasure beneath him, almost entirely unaware of the little moans escaping his lips. John's hands, rough from a life of work but not unpleasantly so, roam over Sherlock's bare chest. Sherlock's hands fist John's jumper of their own volition. Sherlock vaguely realizes he has almost no control of his body and, for the first time, it's _exhilarating_.

John is kissing his way down Sherlock's chest now, and oh _God_, the feel of his lips is exquisite. John's breath tickles his skin and his stubble adds a hint of pain. Sherlock has never _felt_ like this before, like his body is about to explode with sensation.

John's hands continue to travel downwards. He can barely hear John's own sounds of pleasure as he's nibbling at Sherlock's skin. Sherlock is sure he's entirely too loud, but he doesn't care. He feels John's hands at the buttons of his trousers and his eyes pop open. "John," He breathes. No. Nonono. He was supposed to be exploring John. This was not how he had planned this going.

John undoes his zipper, relieving pressure, but no. _No._

"John!" Sherlock says more forcefully.

Everything stops. John is off of him completely. Sherlock shudders and relaxes and closes his eyes again. He's still panting, still aroused.

"Sorry," John whispers, almost, it seems, ashamed. "I got a little carried away. Sorry."

Sherlock brings his hands to his eyes and presses against them. "No, I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." John tells him sternly. "This is your first go around. You've barely had human contact for Christ knows how long and here I am about to suck you off."

Sherlock winces at the words. He thinks he might've liked it, but he really doesn't know. He decides that because John would have been doing it, he would – will like it.

"Thank you," Sherlock says quietly after a moment. He opens his eyes and looks at John, beautiful, trustworthy, John.

"Of course." John leans back against the couch and leans his head back on Sherlock's stomach. "I don't want to scare you off from this stuff, from me."

Sherlock doesn't think it's possible to be scared of John, except maybe when he's pointing a gun. Sherlock doesn't want to be done with John just yet tonight. He reaches forward and turns John's head to face him, running his index and middle finger across John's cheek. John's eyes close and he breathes in deeply. He shifts and moves his face closer to John's.

"I - I want to try, now," Sherlock says hesitantly. John's eyes snap open. "Do you trust me, John?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Oops this was supposed to be fluffy, but it turned out kinda … more. Sorry :x

John freezes. Sherlock turns on his side and curls around John's head. He's carefully watching John's face for any kind of reaction.

"What do you want to try?" John asks, expression and voice guarded.

Sherlock really isn't sure what he wants to try. All he knows is that if he doesn't distract himself the noise will come back. "May I memorize your face?" He asks tentatively. Disappointment flits across John's face. Sherlock takes in a sharp breath. "What? Is that not good?" Sherlock puts his hands on John's face and pulled him close. "What will make it good, John?"

John looks at him with sadness in his eyes. "I'm not going to push you. Yes you may memorize my face."

Sherlock gets up off of the couch and pushes John to where he had just been sitting. Sherlock kneels and meets John's gaze. "Are you sure this is good?" Sherlock whispers. He doesn't like this defeated expression that John has. It makes Sherlock feel … bad? He needs John to be happy. John will stay with him if he's happy.

"Yes Sherlock. It's fine." John manages a small smile. "Memorize away."

Sherlock puts his hands on John's face hungrily. He moves closer so they are hardly an inch away. Sherlock sniffs a little. Yes, this man still smells like John, though the scent is made fuller with wine and strawberry sauce. Sherlock traces John's jaw, feeling the stubble that had been on his chest a few minutes earlier. Sherlock brings his mouth closer and runs his tongue over the slight cleft in John's chin. Mmm, yes, he still tastes like John as well, with a hint of whipped cream. Sherlock takes in a breath as he drags his nose along John's cheek. He presses their foreheads together to compare their faces. John's face isn't as long, but it is wider. His nose is wider, too and perhaps a little longer. Sherlock pulls back a little. John's eyes are closed and his breath is quick and short. Aroused then? Sherlock runs his finger tips over every bone in John's skull. His eyebrows are similar to his hair, a few finer hairs and a few coarser ones. Sherlock brushes the sensitive skin of his lips against John's eyelids and _oh God_ they're perfect. Soft and warm and Sherlock can't help but kiss them. He feels John shiver underneath him. Sherlock pulls back again and looks, _really looks_, at John's face. He has bags under his eyes, but they're endearing in quality. Sherlock runs his thumbs over them, palms resting on John's cheeks. Sherlock tilts his head to the side to observe how the shadows change John's face. One tilt makes him marginally older, the other younger. He counts two, maybe three lines in John's forehead; he grazes those with his lips as well, memorizing every groove. He hears his name escape John's lips and his stomach flips and his breath catches. Those lips, thin and soft and knowing. They fit John's face so well Sherlock can't help but brush his own lips against them. Sherlock's thumbs are still running over John's cheekbones. He prefers John's to his own. John's are so wonderfully normal and he can't fully understand their appeal. Sherlock flexes his hands slightly, smirking at the way John's skin reacts. He squeezes again and, pressure still applied, moves his hands in small circles. He chuckles lightly to himself and John's eyes open to the noise. "Your face is squishy." Sherlock tells him. "It's rather entertaining."

John giggles. "Enough memorizing?" He asks.

"Mmmm, I could start in on your neck." Sherlock admits, lowering his hands, feeling John's heightened pulse.

"You sure you don't want to try anything else?" John's voice is small, as if asking permission.

Sherlock hones in on John's expression. It's almost pleading. Fear bubbles in Sherlock's stomach. "What would you have me do?" He can't stand to see John looking like this.

John sighs and his shoulders droop. "Nothing you don't want to."

"Tell me. I might want to." Yes, Sherlock wants to do a lot of things with John Watson, but he really isn't sure what they all are yet.

John looks at him with a hunger is his eyes. "Would you help me with getting rid of this ridiculous erection?" John asks simply.

Sherlock loses control of his breathing and fear floods his system. But this is John. He can trust John. Even though it is Sherlock's job to keep John safe, he knows John will keep him safe, too.

"I know it's skipping about in the anatomy a bit, but Jesus Sherlock, I've never been so turned on." John tells him.

Something a bit like pride wells up in Sherlock's chest. He can do this to John Watson. He has this power over John Watson. It's a heady feeling and Sherlock loves it. "How can I help?" His voice is a lot rougher than he imagined, perhaps, he realizes, because he's so aroused himself.

"God," John whispers. "Give me your hand. Don't wanna push you too hard."

Sherlock offers his hand as John undoes his pants. Just when Sherlock is sure he's gotten his breathing under control again, John pulls his erection out of his pants and sighs. Sherlock cannot take in another breath. His body is frozen solid and it shouldn't be. He's seen his fair share of penises what with his own body and practically living at the morgue for his experiments. He understands how they function and their anatomy. What he does not understand is why John Watson's penis makes his insides turn to soup.

John takes Sherlock's hand and raises it to his mouth. He licks Sherlock's palm and each individual finger. Sherlock cannot breathe. He's shaking and he doesn't know why and it's so frustrating but Sherlock _loves_ it. "John," He chokes out.

John looks at him intently. "You okay?"

"Yes. No." Sherlock cannot take his eyes off of John's member. He wants it. He needs to feel it. Needs to fully understand it.

"Do you need to stop?" John asks him seriously, worry tingeing his voice.

"No. God no." Sherlock takes his hand out of John's grasp and wraps it around John's erection. John lets out a moan and that only makes Sherlock more determined. He leans his head against John's thigh in order to see this and John's reactions at the same time. He moves his hand up and down slowly, just taking in the heat and the softness of John's skin. John's hips begin to move and what with his head lolling against the back of the couch, Sherlock is sure he's unaware of what his body is doing. Sherlock has complete control. This was getting _fun_.

John gasps when Sherlock increases pressure and speed. His body twitches involuntarily when Sherlock twists his hand just so. It's hard to maintain a consistent rhythm with John's hips rocking so sporadically so Sherlock puts his hand on one and presses against it. John's body calms. Sherlock runs his thumb over John's tip causing John to buck again and eliciting another unintelligible sound. Well, touch is fine, but Sherlock needs more data. He glances up at John's face. His eyes are closed and he almost looks as though he's in pain. He takes his hand away from John's erection and decides to take a taste. He runs his lips over the fevered flesh and he is again surprised at how soft it is. He flicks his tongue out for a taste. Salty. John.

"Oh, _God_ Sherlock." John wails. "Please. Pleaseplease."

Please what? Do it again? Sherlock obliges with a longer drag of his tongue. He doesn't mind doing this, he likes the way John tastes, likes the feel of this body part on his tongue. Sherlock is surprised when John's hands tangle painfully in his hair, but he takes it as a good sign and licks his lips before putting them around John's erection. He can hear John cry out. Sherlock is so sure he is doing something good and happiness wells in his chest. He swirls his tongue around and sucks until the muscles in his cheeks are sore from exertion.

Suddenly John pushes him away. Sherlock is terrified that he has done something wrong, that John ended up not liking this and no he needs to make it better _now_, but he sees John pull his trousers up and watches as John's body shudders heavily. John strokes out his orgasm and moans. Sherlock is fascinated. John is beautiful, so beautiful right now. So raw and in so little control of his body.

When John opens his eyes again they are still dark but they are relaxed and John looks so happy. Sherlock's heart soars.

"You bastard." John breathes.

Sherlock looks at him confusedly. He was so sure that had been good. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing!" John says quickly. He grabs Sherlock's arms and hauls him up for a kiss. "God, no that was – Christ that was wonderful Sherlock." He kisses him again. "I haven't come that hard in ages."

Sherlock is so irrationally glad about this. All he can see is John's grateful expression, all he can hear is the out of control beating of his heart. Nothing else in the world matters now. Sherlock and John. Sherlock is nearly delirious with the events of tonight.

John runs a hand along Sherlock's jaw and glances down. "Do you uh – need a little help, too?"

Panic floods Sherlock's veins like ice. "No." He answers quickly. "No, I'll be fine." No he can't let John there. Not yet. It would be too much. He's already given John so much control. He isn't ready to totally give it up, isn't ready for that kind of intimacy. He wants to be close to John, understand all of John but he doesn't want John to understand all of him. He promised he would try, he did, but he's nowhere near ready.

"What are you going to go …?" John's voice trails off and an odd look creeps over his face. "Sherlock, do you … do you masturbate?"

"No!" Sherlock answers quickly, heat rising in his cheeks. And he doesn't, because he's never really needed to. "No. It'll go away on its own." He stands and realizes his trousers are still undone. He grabs a few belt loops and starts to retreat to his room. This conversation is taking a turn he doesn't like.

"Jesus. You really must be super human." John looks at him with an odd amazement. "You don't sleep, you don't eat, you don't cry, you don't wank." He shakes his head. "What do you do?"

Sherlock curls his lip, unsure if he likes John's tone and assessment. No. He can hear the noise at the edge of his mind. No. It had been going so well. Sherlock closes his eyes and puts a fist against his temple. _No_.

"Sherlock?" He hears John's worried voice.

"_I think_." He hisses. Sherlock turns on his heel and strides to his room, slamming his door.


	4. Chapter 4

_John is running. Running and he looks terrified. He keeps glancing back to make sure Sherlock hasn't caught up with him. Sherlock is trying to run after him but he can't get his legs to move fast enough. He shouting after John, trying to get him to come back, please just let him explain. But John keeps getting farther and farther away, into a blackness where Sherlock can't follow. He looks down at himself and he can't even recognize his own body. There's no shape it's just white noise. There's a hissing noise that seems to be emanating from what is supposed to be his body. He tries to brush the white noise off, away, but it's already consumed him. The hiss gets louder and louder until he's screaming to try and drown it out._

Sherlock jerks awake and sucks in a huge breath. He lets it out slowly, shakily. He's still here, he's still calm, still in control of himself. He rubs his eyes roughly, taking another deep breath. Just a dream. He gets out of his bed quickly, his heart still racing. Sherlock stalks in to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face, willing his body to calm down. He looks at himself in the mirror. His face is tired, shows signs of stress. He hates it. He hates looking so haggard. He takes a deep breath and watches as his face slides into a cool mask. There. That's better.

The floor creaks above him. John, rolling in his bed, dreaming. Nightmare? No. He would've heard John cry out. Sherlock glances at his reflection again, a tinge of red on his cheeks. Did John really have that much influence over him? How? Sherlock spins and rushes out of the bathroom. He pauses before reentering his room. His body moves without his mind's consent and he spins around again and creeps towards John's room.

John's door is open. Sherlock slinks silently in. He sees John tangled in his sheets. He looks peaceful, younger. This isn't the first time Sherlock has stolen away into John's room in the middle of the night. Watching John sleep relaxes him. Concentrating on all the contours of John's body quiets his mind and he needs that when the rest of the world is asleep.

John shifts in his bed. "Mmm. Sh'rlock." John whispers.

Sherlock steps closer. Is John dreaming about him? About what happened earlier tonight? He sits on the floor right next to John's bed. He watches the gentle rise and fall of John's chest as he breathes. He finds it hard to comprehend how beautiful John is to him all the time. He needs to study John more closely. He needs to posses John. John is his. John will be his forever. John is a mystery that needs to be solved. He needs to study John more closely. He needs to posses John. John is his. John will be his forever. John is a mystery that needs to be solved. He needs to study John more closely.

These thoughts continue to repeat in Sherlock's head. This is usually what sitting in John's room at 4 in the morning turns into. Sherlock vaguely thinks that this may not be healthy, but then what part of his lifestyle is?

Sherlock sits in John's room for another 25 minutes. He leaves 15 minutes before John's alarm goes off. John has work at the surgery in an hour and 45 minutes.

Sherlock glides down the stairs and settles himself on to the couch. He steeples his fingers and presses them against his lips. He thinks upon last night, marveling over how much control he can have over John. But what was it John had said at the restaurant? That he has to open up? How was he supposed to go about that? What did it mean exactly?

"Morning, love." He hears John say as he walks by to get to the bathroom. Sherlock has let time slip away from him again. But then something strikes him. Sherlock's head snaps in John's direction. Love? That single word added to John's usual greeting, oh well is simply made Sherlock's heart soar. He couldn't understand it. _What was this man doing to him for God's sake? _

Sherlock listens to John take a shower. He debates going in there with him. He doesn't think John would object, other than the fact that he has to work and might want to spend his time doing more intimate things. But then, John is attracted to him, right? Maybe it would be nice surprise to just pop in and help him wash his hair, oh yes he did want to do that, or kiss him while the water surrounds them. How does John look soaking wet? Sherlock decides he needs to gather this data and, he notices uncomfortably, his groin seems to agree. Sherlock sighs. He knows he is physically attracted to John. He knows John is not the first person he has been attracted to, but so far this particular attraction was persistent, not the casual pining for a few touches and then being done with the person. There was something different about John, but what?

Sherlock stands to go to the bathroom but stops short when he hears the water turn off. Too late then. He will try tomorrow, when John doesn't have work. Sherlock is still standing when John comes out of the bathroom, toweling his hair.

John eyes him cautiously. "You okay?"

Sherlock looks at him with narrowed eyes. "You make my body do things I don't want it to." He tells John.

John looks at the floor and his lips form a small 'o'. Sherlock takes a step closer to him, knowing his eyes are burning. He wants to kiss those lips. The need to take John, feel how he is different after a shower, smell how he is different, taste how he is different, was overwhelming. Sherlock can't tell if the flush on John's cheeks are from the shower or the sudden pressure Sherlock has put on him. "O – Okay. I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"John," Sherlock whispers roughly, stepping ever closer. John's face has opened up. He almost looks nervous. Sherlock steps right up to him and puts his hands on John's hips. John's dressing gown is rough beneath his fingers but he pulls John close. Christ he smells like shampoo and clean and Sherlock just needs to _consume_ him.

"This something you don't want to do, then?" John asks softly, bitterly.

Sherlock freezes. He hates it when John does this to him, surprises him like this. The mere fact that John can continually do so makes it entirely too frustrating. "What?"

"You said I make your body do things you don't want it to do," John pushes Sherlock's hands away and takes a step back. "And then you come up to me like you can't even help it." John folds his arms over his chest and looks at Sherlock sternly. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's insides have gone cold. John is angry. Angry with him? Why? What was not good? He didn't understand. "I … What …?" For once he can't find words and it's terrifying. John will leave. He will definitely leave and all because of Sherlock's stupidity, his lack of experience. He can feel the noise, the blackness, on the edges of his consciousness. It's coming in stronger and stronger.

"I told you last night," John continues. "That I won't let you have me if I can't have you. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," The answer slips out of Sherlock's lips before he can even think, but he finds the answer is true. "Yes, John, and then I asked you to be patient with me because I've never done this before. I've never wanted to do this before. I can't lose you over my own stupidity. I'm sorry I don't have experience. But I'm trying John, really I'm trying." Sherlock looks at John pleadingly. He can feel his knees going weak. John _needs _to understand. "I need you and it terrifies me because I've never needed anyone. You make my insides run cold when I think I've done something wrong. My body reacts to every touch, to every inflection in your voice John. I don't know what you're doing to me!" He shouts. He shouldn't be this worked up. His vision has gone fuzzy and his head it filling with all the small sounds of the flat, the road outside, people walking, Mrs Hudson downstairs. No. No. The noise is overtaking him.

"You bloody idiot." John says.

Sherlock's eyes focus on John's face. John looks amazed, blown away. "What?" He hisses.

"You're in love with me aren't you?" John asks quietly.

And just like that, John has made the noise disappear again. The black thoughts have edged away and have been replaced with confusion. "Am I?" He whispers. Sherlock has never been in love, never even had a crush. There's been lust before, he can identify that, but love?

"Sounds like it to me, yeah." John chuckles. Sherlock so thoroughly enjoys that chuckle, so happy and free. He wishes he could chuckle like that. "And that's really just great because, Sherlock," John looks Sherlock right in the eye. There's so much happiness there. Sherlock really isn't sure what expression his own face is wearing. "Sherlock, I'm pretty sure I love you, too."

The world goes silent. Sherlock cannot even hear his own breath. The world has gone blank except for John Watson's face. "No." He whispers.

John's face crumbles, devastated. "What?"

"You can't love me." Sherlock tells him looking away from that face, that horribly sad expression.

"Why the hell not?" John shouts at him. "You better have a bloody good reason for this or so help me –"

"I'm a monster, John!" Sherlock shouts back. "If you let me have you I'll consume you. All I want to do is posses you, make you mine, keep you. I need you happy for my own selfish reasons." Sherlock presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can feel himself falling, knees given out. This is all too much. He feels John catch him. "I need to memorize you because I know you won't stay. You can't possibly stay. Not with _me_. No one stays. I scare them away or I get bored."

"Bollocks." John says. Sherlock throws his hands away from his face and glares at him. "I told you I wasn't going to run away. I'm staying here until you don't want me anymore." They're on the floor, Sherlock curled between John's legs. John is holding him close, as though he almost lost Sherlock and can't bear the thought of that again.

"No no _no_." Sherlock turns and takes John by the shoulders. "The longer you stay the worse it will be. I can't let you into my head. The tearing thoughts, John. They'll tear you apart, too. I won't let that happen."

"Then don't let it happen." John tells him, as if it's simple. Oh, how Sherlock wishes it were simple. "You're in control of your mind aren't you?"

"When I'm not bored." Sherlock snaps.

"Maybe I can keep you from being bored. It's been working lately right?" John is pleading with him. John is scared. His face is strained, trying to understand, sympathizing. There are tears in those ocean eyes.

"It's been working because we've been trying. It was going bad before." Sherlock spits. He hates the scorn in his voice. Hates being so obvious. Hates having such an emotional reaction. He is so out of his element now. Never has he been so raw in front of someone, except his brother.

"Exactly, Sherlock!" John cries. "We just have to keep trying." John puts his hands on Sherlock's face, running his thumbs under Sherlock's eyes. "Please Sherlock. Let yourself have this. Let someone in, let someone make you happy. I think I can Sherlock. I _want_ to make you happy."

Sherlock lets out short laugh that sounds more like a sob. "I can't have you. If I have you, I'll kill this light in you." Sherlock squeezes John's shoulders. "Don't you see? You're so selfless. You want to give and give. All I'm doing is taking. Always taking. I can't take the good out of you John." Sherlock is sure there are tears in his eyes now. He shakes John roughly. "I'll kill that goodness in you."

John releases Sherlock and spins away from him. "You're such a sodding fool Sherlock!" he screams. "I'm a doctor, have been for some time now. I've been an army doctor! I've been on the battle field. I've told you this!" John shoves a finger in Sherlock's face. "If you think you're mightier than the enemies I fought, mightier than seeing people blown to pieces, mightier than seeing people dying horrible diseases every single fucking day than that's brilliant." John is fuming. His face is flush with anger. "I've seen so many fucked up things and you think some time with _you_ is going to change this 'goodness' that all that couldn't burn out?" John lets out a laugh that doesn't sound happy. It shouldn't even be called a laugh. "I'd really like to see you try."

Sherlock is speechless. He really hasn't thought this all the way through. He was not prepared for John's outburst at all, not prepared for such stubbornness. All he can do is look at the floor, marveling at the furious man in front of him.

Something in Sherlock has broken. He can feel something welling up inside of him, something he hasn't felt in years. Hope.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry this is so late guys! I've been incredibly busy and John and Sherlock have been really private with these parts. Tried to get it as best as I could. Thank you so much for reading! I love you all!**

* * *

"Sod this." John says after a moment. His voice is eerily calm. "I have to go to work." He hurries upstairs and fades out of Sherlock's consciousness.

Sherlock stays still. His brain is truly frozen. He cannot think, he can only feel. He feels for the first time that there is hope for him. That he, Sherlock Holmes, might be able to fit with someone. For years he's convinced himself that he didn't need anyone, that he was better off alone, because no one would be able to understand. Maybe John might not fully understand the noise or the dark thoughts, but he would certainly try. Sherlock's certain he will. John will be there, always be there if he lets him, to try and distract him. To … to love him. Yes. John loves him. And he does love John. _He does_. It's the greatest feeling on the world. To know that he's not alone. To know that someone will be there to support him, to cheer him on as John does. Not because they're family, not because they have to, but because they want to. Because they care. Christ now he knows why people strive their whole lives to find love.

"John?" He shouts. He rises from the floor, running upstairs. John's room is empty. Panic floods Sherlock's veins like ice. John. Where is John? Sherlock runs through the rest of the flat. "John?" Finally, Sherlock catches a clock out of the corner of his eye. It's almost four in the afternoon. He's lost the entire day to his mind. But John should be home soon. Sherlock hurries to his room, a light feeling in his chest. He throws himself onto his bed and gropes around for his mobile. Where … where … there! Sherlock pauses. Does he text John? Does he call John? Does he wait for John to get back? _Oh_, he doesn't _know_! He decides on a text.

_Sorry I'm such an idiot. I think I finally understand. Hurry home – SH_

Sherlock's heart races as he waits for John's reply. He is surprised at himself. Surprised at his eagerness for such crippling emotion. _No._ He pushes those thoughts away, pushes the black thoughts back in their place. His mobile vibrates in his hand. His heart skips a beat.

_Bloody beautiful bastard. I'm nearly to Baker St._

Sherlock is tingling with delight. He will try. He will really try for John. Try to be open. Try to be physical, intimate. Oh and he's so horrifyingly excited. How John can even love him he doesn't understand but he doesn't care and it's such a _satisfying_ feeling. He hears the front door below and leaps from his bed. He can hear John's footsteps on the stairs. He thinks his heart might explode. He skids to a halt in the living room. John bounds up the stairs. Their eyes meet and Sherlock can't breathe. John gives a slight shake of his head and licks his lips before he strides toward Sherlock. Sherlock takes two large steps and meets him in the middle. He wraps his long arms around John and fights the urge to tear up. It's so utterly strange to _feel_ so much. He likes it even though he's spent years trying to avoid anything similar to this.

"Damn you Sherlock Holmes." John says, his voice raw. "Damn you."

John pulls away and frames Sherlock's face with his hands, his eyes full of wonder. Sherlock is sure his own face is reflecting the expression. They gaze into each other's eyes until Sherlock has lost track of time.

"What do we do now?" Sherlock whispers. "I've never been in love. I'm very under practiced."

John laughs and looks at the floor. "We continue as we have, Sherlock." John looks up again and yes, Sherlock can finally place this expression. Lovingly. "Only now, I won't feel awkward when I want to kiss you."

Sherlock lets out a low chuckle and leans down to press his lips to the only man that can keep him guessing and can put up with every single oddity of his life. "I love you." He manages around kisses. "I love you, John Watson."

John hums happily against his lips. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard." John's hands slide from Sherlock's face to his hips and pulled him close, as close as possible. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock's stomach somersaults at the admission. "I don't care what anyone says anymore, I don't care what I've said in the past," John pulls away and looks Sherlock dead in the eye. "Sherlock, I really, really love you. And yes, to answer your question from last night, I do trust you. I trust you with my life even though that's probably incredibly foolish." John's voice cracks and Sherlock tightens his arms around John's waist. "Christ, I just love you so much."

Sherlock is speechless. All he can do is kiss John. Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. He's so happy and so overwhelmed with this warmth that's bursting out of his chest. It's all so unfamiliar and he's terrified at the same time, but John is his rock. John will help him, guide him, and Sherlock feels so safe wrapped in John's solid arms, the safest he's ever felt in his life though he's honestly at his most vulnerable. "John," he whispers. He whispers it between kisses, all these wonderful kisses, like a prayer. It's all he can manage in the state he's in. And oh John's kisses are wonderful. His tongue is brushing Sherlock's reverently like he's something to be cherished. Sherlock's knees are about to give out from the pure perfection of John's lips, John's tongue, John's touch. He's shaking and it's so unusually wonderful.

Finally, Sherlock manages to stutter out, "May I still memorize you, John?" His need for this man's body was frankly shocking. John looked at him with a slightly wary expression. This face, that Sherlock had already memorized, was still surprising in the way it worked. Sherlock marvels at it silently while John makes his decision.

"Ye – yeah, Sherlock." John answers after a small nod that means he's steadied himself.

"You're sure you're all right with it?" Sherlock asks cautiously. He doesn't want anything to go wrong.

"Yes, Sherlock." John nods slowly. "I trust you. I love you."

Sherlock's stomach twists with glee and a small smile spreads across his face. He takes John's hands in his own and pulls him toward his bedroom. John looks a little nervous as Sherlock sits him down on his bed. Sherlock pulls his dressing gown off and hones in on John. He puts his hands on either side of John's hips and kisses John lightly on the cheek. He runs his hands over John's shoulders, down the front of his chest cataloguing the hills and valleys of John's torso. Sherlock unbuttons and pulls at fabrics, thick and thin, coarse and smooth, and soft and warm, until John is half naked on his bed. The sight sends thrilling shivers through Sherlock's entire being. He takes in a slow breath and, hands shaking, he pushes John down so that he's laying. Sherlock's eyes zone in on John's scar. His hands fly to it. The shape is fascinating, a bit like cracked glass or perhaps a neuron. The scar tissue is red and warm and smooth, though it's raised above the rest of the flesh on his shoulder. Sherlock puts his face right to it. It smells no different, he should have expected that. He flicks out his tongue. John's scar doesn't really have a taste other than the taste that can only be described as _John_. Sherlock hears John sigh, and it doesn't sound happy.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks, snapping his head towards John's face, sure his expression is concerned.

"I knew you'd go right for that." John is looking away. Ashamed?

Sherlock looks back at the scar. "John, it's beautiful. It's fascinating. It's a part of you." He reaches out and turns John's face to look at him. "It brought you to me."

John lets out a ragged breath. "Sherlock."

Sherlock shudders and kisses John. He's not sure how to kiss John properly, how to show the depth of what he's feeling through his lips like John can. He winds his fingers into John's and pulls back ever so slightly. "I've changed my mind." He says quietly. "I want you to lead. You are the one with experience." John gives him an odd look, but there is a smile playing on his lips. Sherlock can feel the corners of his mouth rise as well. His heart is racing. He's given up control of the situation. Adrenaline floods his system. He's so out of his element. _John will take care of me_. Sherlock tells himself, willing his heart to calm.

"We'll take things slow, okay?" John tells him, squeezing Sherlock's hands. John pushes Sherlock down onto the bed and straddles him, reversing their position.

Sherlock nods, looking up at John nervously. _John will take care of me. I trust John. John loves me. I love John._

John's eyes crinkle as he smiles at Sherlock. Those ocean eyes fill Sherlock's whole world. "Don't worry, love." John whispers taking his left hand out of Sherlock's grip and placing it against Sherlock's face. Sherlock feels his heart swell and his breathing is beyond his control again. John leans down and kisses Sherlock. Yes, this was the kiss that made Sherlock's insides turn to liquid. John's mouth dominated his, but not in an unpleasant way. Sherlock is reveling in it. He tries to mirror John's lips' movement, learning how to kiss John better than the sloppy instances before.

John leans back groaning. "Christ, you learn fast." He giggles.

Sherlock looks at him like he's an idiot, though internally Sherlock can't help but be amused. "You are talking to Sherlock Holmes, John."

John shakes his head and chuckles again. "You're right. I do apologize." He leans down and kisses Sherlock again.

* * *

It's been thirty-four days since Sherlock first told John he loves him. He can't stop telling John that he loves him. Sherlock is as surprised at this fact as John. Normally, he's loathe to repeat himself, but he can hardly believe the amount of emotion that grows inside of him when John is around him, when John touches him, when John kisses him. It's almost new every time and Sherlock can barely help himself and he tells John again that he loves him.

For the first time in years, Sherlock is able to handle the lack of a case. Sure he may be a little bored while John is at the surgery, but it gives him time to think of things he wants to try with John, places he wants to kiss, to catalogue, how he wants to pleasure John when he gets home.

And there is something big he wants to try this evening.

Sherlock has been surprised at John's self control. He knows John wants to take things farther than they've gone, wants to touch Sherlock, _really_ touch him, but Sherlock is still nervous. John has stopped every time Sherlock has asked and Sherlock couldn't be more grateful to him for that.

Sherlock is sitting on the couch, bracing himself. John will be home in two minutes and twenty-seven seconds.

He wants this. He wants to give John control. Show John that he means something to him, that he trusts John.

But this is terrifying.

Sherlock has been meaning to let himself be touched, but he's such a coward with these things. He's –

The front door opens. John is home. Sherlock leaps off of the couch and starts pacing, heart pounding. How will he start the conversation? Does he just ask? How does he initiate? How, how, how?

"Afternoon, love." John greets him, taking off his jacket.

Sherlock snaps his body towards John and stares at him. John freezes and purses his lips. "You okay?"

Sherlock takes a few calming breaths. "John," Another breath. John starts looking concerned. "I … I want … I want to…"

John takes a few steps toward Sherlock. "What? Do you need help with something?" John reaches for Sherlock's hand. "How can I help you?"

Sherlock has frozen. He has no idea how to proceed. So Sherlock kisses him, that inside melting kiss that he learned from these exact lips. John lets out a sigh and pushes Sherlock away after a moment. "Bit early for that, eh? We haven't even had dinner." John is breathing hard so Sherlock knows he can get what he wants anyway. Sherlock is still unable to form coherent sentences so he tries for another kiss, this time more urgent. "All right, you win." John says after another moment, smiling softly. John walks toward his room. "Let me get a little more comfortable."

Sherlock thinks to follow John but decides against it. Heart pounding, he heads to his own room. John should be able to find him here. They are always intimate in Sherlock's room. Sherlock could feel his hands shaking. He was nervous, never been so nervous in his life. He was nervous of failing, of the unknown. He hated it.

"Did you have a bad day today?" John asks quietly from the doorway. He's changed into jeans and a T-shirt, no shoes, no socks.

"No," Sherlock says after a moment. "I've just been thinking rather hard." He's looking at the floor. He can feel a blush upon his cheeks.

"They weren't black thoughts were they?" John takes a few steps towards him, concern tingeing his voice.

Sherlock shook his head and looked back up at John. "John those haven't plagued me in a month." He admits.

John raises his eyebrows. "But you haven't even had a case."

"I know." Sherlock takes a step closer to John and leans his head near John's face. "I have one man to thank for that." He purrs and narrows his eyes. John loves it when he does that.

John's breath catches. "You – you mean …?"

Sherlock answers with a kiss, slow and reverent, something else he learned from John. He owes John so much. He takes John's hands and puts them on his hips. John's grip tightens as Sherlock deepens the kiss. Sherlock weaves his fingers into John's hair, his beautiful hair that, if today's actions go well, he will help wash tomorrow.

Finally Sherlock pulls away slightly, though John tries to catch his mouth again. "John," He breathes. John hums in response. "I – I want to give you control." He says.

"How d'you mean?" John asks, looking up at Sherlock with his ocean eyes, dark with desire.

Sherlock looks down and puts his hands over John's, still on his hips. He pushes them down slightly. Adrenaline floods his system. Is he doing this right?

"Sherlock, are you sure you're ready?" John asks roughly, apparently losing control of his own breath. Sherlock can still hear concern in his voice. He internally rolls his eyes. John cares for him too much, but Sherlock loves that fact.

Sherlock nods quickly before he can change his mind. And John is pushing him to the bed, kissing him hurriedly. He guides Sherlock's fall and kisses his neck, hand trailing down his torso. Sherlock shudders as John's hand ghosts over the bulge in his trousers. Dear God.

"It's all right, love. I've got you." John whispers in his ear. His hand pauses just before undoing the button on Sherlock's trousers. All the breath in Sherlock's lungs are forced out as he feels John's warm hand slide under his waistband. John's fingers brush the base of his cock and oh God he can't see, he can't breathe, he lets out a gasp and a light moan. He hears John chuckle, breath tickling his neck. "Like that, then?" John takes his hand out of Sherlock's pants and pushes his trousers down away from his hips. Sherlock helps, tugging every bit of fabric off of his lower half. "Eager now, are we?" John asks taking in the state Sherlock is in now. He settles himself between Sherlock's legs and runs his hands up Sherlock's thighs. Everything on Sherlock is shaking now, from pleasure, from the anticipation, from fear. And then he can feel John on him again, hand wrapped loosely around his aching erection. John is kissing him, just on the jaw line. Sherlock can hear whimpers escaping his lips. John's hand begins to move, slowly but deliberately. Sherlock's eyes screw shut. He's done this himself before, years and years ago when puberty had started to hit, but never since. A warmth is building in him and he knows he's nearing orgasm. He can feel his body moving of its own volition, legs twitching, hands clenched in the duvet of his bed, head thrown back. He's terrified, but the solid shape of John near him keeps him somewhat calmed. He feels a tightening in his groin and the world goes blank. There's no noise, there are no visuals, he can barely feel John next to him anymore, there is just this pleasure. After a moment he can hear again. John is laughing. _Oh God._

"Well, that didn't take long." John chuckles. He's grabbed some tissue and is cleaning Sherlock up.

Sherlock is still working to catch his breath and this fear that something has gone horribly wrong is not helping. "Not good?"

John looks up at him, really looks. He must find fear in Sherlock's expression because John then sits down next to him and lays a reassuring hand on his stomach. "No, Sherlock, it was fine." John tries to hide his smile. "It just usually takes a little longer than that. When's – have you ever done … _anything_?"

Sherlock is blushing furiously. He feels odd that he's responding like this, but there is something in him that tell him nothing is supposed to go wrong. "Once. Years ago."

"Well, you were certainly responsive." John smiles warmly at him. "And there's nothing wrong with that, love."

Sherlock is surprised, but the words calm him. He can barely keep the smile off of his face as he pulls John into bed with him to reciprocate his pleasure.

A few hours later, the two men are arm in arm in Sherlock's bed. John is tracing circles on Sherlock's bare shoulder. Sherlock is lying on his stomach gaze fixed on John, who is on his back next to him, their legs are tangled together.

"You're beautiful." Sherlock tells him, his voice sliding out of his lips.

John chuckles. "Not as beautiful as you." He murmurs.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. He wants to berate John for being so romantic, but he can't bring himself to do it. Sherlock has never felt so relaxed.

"Did you enjoy it?" John asks, watching his finger draw circles. "Giving up control, I mean?" Sherlock can hear a tremor of nervousness in John's voice. Sherlock narrows his eyes momentarily. John was worried about his own performance?

"It was terrifying." Sherlock tells him after a moment. John's hand pauses and his body goes still. "I've never felt anything like it. It was very good, John." Sherlock shifts onto his side and tilts John's head to look at him. "Thank you, John. For guiding me, for staying with me. For everything."

John's face is so still, though his breathing is sporadic. He looks surprised? "Thank you, Sherlock." Sherlock's brow furrows. "Thank you for trusting me enough to let me love you."

Sherlock feels a happiness bubble in his chest like he's never felt before. He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly. He will have to punch John Watson one of these days for causing him to feel _so much_. He knows it will be a long time before he is bored again. He knows it will be an even longer time before the black thoughts and the noise assault him again. He has found this wonderful distraction in John Watson. No, John is more than just a distraction. John is his life now. He shifts forward and buries his face into John's shoulder, unbelievably content.

"I love you."


End file.
